Busman's Honeymoon (Savannah Martin Mystery #10.5) Read online

  It’s official. Margaret Anne Martin’s perfect daughter Savannah has tied the knot with her unsuitable boyfriend Rafe Collier, and they’re off on their honeymoon to sunny Florida, courtesy of Savannah’s brother Dix and sister Catherine.

  However, the happy couple barely has time to enjoy a night of nuptial bliss before they find themselves face to face with the dead body of their hostess, Frenetta Wallin, the next morning. And as soon as the local sheriff’s deputy finds out about Rafe’s criminal record, Savannah’s new husband becomes suspect Numero Uno in what might not have been a natural death.

  So much for a romantic honeymoon full of sun, sand, and hot sex.

  Instead, Savannah must ferret out the truth about who wanted Frenetta dead, and why, before the sheriff can slap handcuffs on Rafe and slam the cell door behind him.

  Chapter One

  “Do you,” the minister asked me, “Savannah Jane, take Rafael to be your lawful wedded husband, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?”

  He paused so I could respond. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to marry Rafe. Quite the contrary. I wanted to, desperately.

  But what if I failed? My first marriage had ended in divorce. I hadn’t made Bradley happy. I hadn’t loved him enough, or comforted or honored or kept him well enough. What if I couldn’t keep Rafe happy, either?

  I loved him so much it hurt. I wanted nothing more than to keep him for as long as I lived. But what if I lacked the wife-gene? We’d been doing well living in sin for the past six months. What if once we were married, things changed? What if getting married jinxed the lovely relationship we were building?

  Rafe arched a brow, and behind me on the first row, my mother cleared her throat. There was a soft rustling going through the tent, as of a gentle breeze moving through dry grass. It was the sound of people starting to whisper.

  Mother was probably hoping I’d say no. She’d allowed us to get married here, on the grounds of the Martin Mansion, my ancestral home, in Sweetwater, Tennessee; an hour and a little more south of Nashville. She had even suggested it, and had arranged the occasion with her own hands, from the catered food to the dress I was wearing to the white gardenia in Rafe’s lapel. But I don’t think she’d have minded terribly if I’d changed my mind halfway through the ceremony.

  The minister cleared his throat. He looked from me to Rafe and back. “Is there a problem?”

  For a second, his gaze dropped to my stomach, round under the off-white silk and chiffon.

  He probably thought we had to get married, as the euphemism goes. I was pregnant, visibly so. Maybe he thought I didn’t really want to marry Rafe, and that I only did it because I didn’t want to be a single mother.

  And nothing could be further from the truth.

  “No,” I said. “No problem.”

  “Then...”

  “I do.” I looked at Rafe. “I want to be your wife. And I’ll love you and keep you and be faithful to you for the rest of my life.”

  A corner of his mouth turned up, and his eyes warmed.

  The minister turned to him. “And do you, Rafael, take Savannah to be your wedded wife, to live together in marriage?”

  It might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn his voice had turned doubtful, as if he expected the answer to be no.

  “Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to her so long as you both shall live?”

  There was a pause. I imagined my mother holding her breath, and probably crossing her fingers.

  “Yeah,” Rafe said.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I do.”

  “Thank you.” The minister sounded annoyed. “Do you have the rings?”

  Rafe turned to David, who fumbled in his pocket.

  David is Rafe’s son, twelve years old, and up until about eight months ago, Rafe had no idea David existed. He’d been conceived during a one-night-stand in high school. Elspeth—David’s mother—had never told Rafe she was pregnant, and after the birth, had been made to give the baby up for adoption. David had ended up with a lovely couple named Virginia and Sam Flannery, who couldn’t possibly love him any more if he’d been their own. And none of us had known anything about any of this until Elspeth died last fall, and left everything she owned to her son.

  And now David was standing as Rafe’s best man at the wedding.

  They were dressed in matching tuxedos, and looked great. Rafe, of course, is gorgeous, and I’m not just saying that because I love him. He has dark hair—what there is of it; he keeps it very short—dark eyes, and dusky skin. Eyelashes any woman with sense would sell her soul for, and a mouth that’s made for kisses. The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome: six-three, with broad shoulders, long legs, and narrow hips.

  And David looks a lot like Rafe did as a kid, with the same dark hair and eyes, and skin a shade or two lighter. Rafe’s mother LaDonna was a blue-eyed blonde, and so was Elspeth. So am I, if it comes to that. The baby I was carrying would probably end up looking a lot like David.

  He fumbled the rings out of his pocket and gave them to Rafe, who kept one and gave the other to me.

  The rings were the one thing we had picked out ourselves. We should have gotten married a week ago, at a simple ceremony at the Nashville courthouse. But that plan got ruined when a sicko serial killer from Rafe’s past took him captive and kept him from getting to the courthouse on time.

  It’s a long story. But it was after that, that Mother decided we should get married here, at the mansion, where she could control everything. She had paid for my wedding dress and Rafe’s tuxedo, the flowers, the food, the tent, and the minister. But not the rings, since we’d already had those.

  I looked at mine—or rather, Rafe’s—lying in the palm of my hand. A perfect golden circle, with Rafe & Savannah and last week’s date engraved inside.

  “It’s the wrong date,” I told Rafe, fighting back an insane desire to giggle.

  He shrugged. “We can fix’em later.”

  Not a chance. Once the ring was on my finger, I wasn’t taking it off again. But if it didn’t bother him, why should it bother me? The important thing was that we were almost married, and that every objection I made, made for a longer wait until I could peel his tuxedo off and have my way with him.

  Pregnancy hormones. What can I say?

  The minister gave me a stern look. “Put the ring on his finger and repeat after me: ‘With this ring, I thee wed.’”

  I took Rafe’s hand with one of mine, and pushed the ring onto his finger with the other. It was hard, with the way my hands were shaking. This was it. This was really it.

  The minister cleared his throat.

  “Oh. Right.” I looked up at Rafe. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

  He winked at me.

  “Now you,” the minister told him. “Put the ring on her finger, and repeat after me: ‘With this ring, I thee wed.’”

  Rafe’s hands were not shaking, nor was his voice. And he didn’t forget what to say, or forget to say anything. He positioned the ring at the tip of my finger, and then pushed it home while he looked into my eyes. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

  My breath went, of course, and my eyes filled with tears. My bottom lip quivered, and Rafe’s curved. “Just hang on another minute,” he told me.


  I nodded, and tried to blink the tears away.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the minister said, oozing disapproval. I guess we weren’t the kind of couple he liked to marry. He had probably expected better from Margaret Anne Martin’s perfect younger daughter.

  Nonetheless, he nodded to Rafe. “You may kiss the bride.”

  Rafe grinned. And looped an arm around my waist and yanked me up against him. And bent me back over his arm so I had to grab his shoulders so I wouldn’t fall on my butt.

  The tent gasped. Or not the tent itself, but everyone in it.

  It was all for show, of course. He was laughing, his eyes dancing. But then he bent his head to kiss me, and those eyes turned darker, and the grin dropped off his face, leaving the kind of expression that could take my breath away, and frequently did.

  I used to pass out when he kissed me. Literally pass out, to where I couldn’t remember what had happened later. I’ve gotten more used to it lately, but my knees still turned weak, and my stomach swooped, and I clung to him while my head swam. It took a minute for the buzzing in my ears to translate into applause.

  He was still laughing when he set me upright. “You all right, darlin’?”

  “Fine,” I said, holding on to his lapels so I wouldn’t dribble into a puddle of love and lust at his feet. “Great.”

  He looked into my eyes. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I said. “It wasn’t because of that. It’s just...”

  He’s always had the ability to read my mind. I shouldn’t have been surprised that he did it now, too. “You’ve been here before.”

  I nodded. “I couldn’t keep Bradley happy. What if I can’t keep you happy, either?”

  “I’ve told you before, darlin’.” His voice was easy. “I ain’t Bradley.”

  No, he wasn’t.

  “We’re going to be all right,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “I love you.”

  He chuckled. “I know. You ready to do this?”

  I nodded.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the minister raised his voice, “I’m happy... pleased... allow me to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Rafael Collier!”

  I would have given him a dirty look, but I was too busy hanging on to Rafe’s arm and smiling so hard my cheeks hurt while I practically skipped down the white runner that was the aisle up the middle of the tent. All our friends and acquaintances were applauding. Even Mother, in a ladylike, subdued fashion, and with a tight smile on her face. I made sure to direct an especially happy smile her way, but to be honest, I didn’t really care that she disapproved. I had the man of my dreams, and he was mine forever, so what did it matter that Mother wasn’t as happy for me as I was for myself? She wasn’t the one who had to live with him.

  Behind us, David offered his arm to Nashville homicide detective Tamara Grimaldi—my maid of honor—and they fell into formation behind us. Ginny and Sam beamed at their son as he came closer, and my brother Dix wasn’t above giving Grimaldi a quick up-and-down look. They’d had something going on since my sister-in-law, Sheila, was murdered last fall. And no, I’m not suggesting that they’ve been carrying on an illicit affair while my brother’s been in mourning. Of course not. But they’ve gone from being friendly to being something more, although I’m not really sure how much more there is. Dix clearly approved of the navy dress that outlined Grimaldi’s athletic body, however. It was probably the first time he’d seen her in a dress. I know it was the first time I had. I was surprised Mother had managed to talk her into it. Literally and figuratively speaking.

  Catherine and Jonathan, my sister and brother-in-law, were smiling and applauding, and so were the kids: three of theirs and two of Dix’s.

  Behind them, Mother’s best friend Audrey had tears in her eyes, and my Aunt Regina, my father’s sister, gave me a thumbs up. Aunt Regina happens to be the society reporter for the local newspaper, the Sweetwater Recorder, and I made a mental note to ask her whether Rafe’s and my wedding had, or would, appear in the society column.

  That would be one in the eye for our joint hometown, wouldn’t it?

  On the other side of the aisle, Rafe’s boss at the TBI—the Tennessee Bureau of Investigations—was applauding along with Mrs. Jenkins, Rafe’s grandmother. She was grinning from ear to ear, but I had no idea whether she actually understood what was going on. She’s suffering from dementia, and some of the time she knows who Rafe is, but much of it, she thinks he’s his father Tyrell, and I’m LaDonna Collier, pregnant with Rafe.

  And now with the addition of David, the poor old dear must be more confused than ever. But she was here, and happy, so did it really matter what she understood beyond that?

  And then we passed out of the tent into the sweltering June heat, under a bright blue sky, with fluffy clouds passing lazily overheard. In front of us, the Martin Mansion rose: two stories of red brick, with tall, white, Grecian pillars holding up the roof. A typical Southern plantation house: Tara, but red.

  Or as Rafe has been known to call it, the mausoleum on the hill.

  The long driveway was clogged with cars. The sheriff’s truck, my brother Dix’s SUV, my sister Catherine’s minivan, Audrey’s sleek Jaguar. Another truck, with a picture of the Virgin Mary in the back window, most likely belonged to José, one of the rookies Rafe and Wendell Craig were training for undercover work. He was inside the tent with a date. So were his fellow rookies: a black kid named Jamal, and white kid named Clayton. All three were around twenty years old; the same age Rafe had been when he’d been recruited by the TBI, straight out of Riverbend Penitentiary.

  Eleven years ago. And to him, it probably seemed a lifetime.

  It was a long time for me, too. Eleven years ago, I’d still had a year of high school to go, and was starting to go steady with my brother’s best friend, Todd Satterfield. If anyone had told me than that I’d end up marrying Rafe Collier, I’m not sure whether I would have been insulted or thought it was a joke, but either way I wouldn’t have believed it.

  We reached the bottom of the wide steps up to the front porch of the mansion, just as an engine fired down on the road.

  Rafe stepped in front of me. I stepped to the side so I could see. “Stop that. Unless you’re wearing bulletproof armor under that tuxedo, you aren’t any less mortal than me.”

  He scowled. “I just promised to keep you for the rest of my life. I ain’t letting you get shot on your wedding day while I’m standing right next to you.”

  “And I’m not letting you get shot standing in front of me,” I fired back. “I promised to keep you, too.”

  A dark SUV pulled out of the very bottom of the driveway and shot off down the street.

  “Shit,” Rafe said. “That’s Satterfield.” He glanced at me. “Ain’t it?”

  I nodded.

  Todd Satterfield, my high school boyfriend and the man my mother wanted me to marry. The man who wanted to marry me, too. The man I had turned down so I could marry Rafe.

  The rear of the SUV disappeared down the road in the direction of Sweetwater proper, and Rafe started breathing again, just as David and Grimaldi reached us. Behind them, Mother and Dix came out of the tent, followed by Wendell and Mrs. Jenkins. Everyone began moseying our way.

  Grimaldi’s brows were lowered. “Who was that?”

  Rafe told her.

  “What was he doing here?”

  “Prob’ly thinking he’d be Johnny-on-the-spot if Savannah decided to do a runner.”

  “Like in the movies?”

  This was David, and I nodded. Grimaldi shook her head. “He obviously doesn’t know you very well, if he thought you’d run away from your own wedding.”

  No, he doesn’t. He knew the perfect Southern Belle I’d been brought up to be, and the girl I’d been before getting married the first time. But he didn’t know—or understand—the woman I’d become since my marriage to Bradley fell apart.

  The old Savannah, the one Todd knew, would never have gott
en involved with Rafe. She’d have been too afraid of rocking the boat.

  I owed Bradley a lot. And if I ever decided to go visit him in prison, I’d be sure to tell him so.

  “What’s going on?” Mother asked, a tiny wrinkle between her immaculate brows, as she and Dix reached us. Behind them, everyone else was filing out of the tent and coming toward us. “You have to get in position for the receiving line.”

  “We figured we’d just stand here on the steps and wave as people got in their cars and drove away,” I said, although of course I knew the wedding wasn’t over yet. There’d be several hours of eating and small-talk before we could go home and I could get Rafe out of the tuxedo and into bed. But I was feeling sort of giddy, and it was fun to watch Mother’s face congeal.

  “I’m afraid not, darling. You are to stand here and be polite until the last of the guests have moved past you and inside, and then you may come in for brunch.”

  “Yes, Mother,” I said meekly, while off to the side, where Mother couldn’t see him, Rafe grinned.

  Until Mother turned in his direction. “Rafael.”

  I think he may have gulped. “Yes, Miz Martin?”

  “I’ll trust you to make sure Savannah behaves.”

  Rafe blinked. So did I. So, I’m sure, did Dix and Grimaldi. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mother nodded regally, and swept past him up the stairs and through the double doors into the mansion. The better to terrorize the catering staff, I’m sure.

  There was a moment’s silence, before Dix said what we were all thinking. “What makes her think you can make Savannah behave?”

  Actually, that wasn’t what we’d been thinking at all. What I’d been thinking, was “When did Mother start believing Rafe is better behaved than I am?”

  “I saw your mama naked last week,” Rafe told Dix. “She’s prob’ly afraid I’m gonna put the pictures on Facebook.”

  There was another pause. Then he said, “I’m kidding.”

  “Oh.” Dix looked relieved.

  “I did see your mama naked. But I didn’t take pictures.”